


Willful Ignorance

by hardboiledbaby



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Community: watsons_woes, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 15:18:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7366981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardboiledbaby/pseuds/hardboiledbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've been a fool, haven't I?"</p>
<p>The words were bitter and the tone harsh. They hung between us, suspended in the air of the Stranger’s Room like cheap tobacco smoke that would not dissipate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Willful Ignorance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Watsons_Woes 2016 July Writing Prompts Challenge, prompt #1 - [’Tis But a Scratch: Have Watson choose to hide something bad from Holmes, or to minimize it, for whatever reason; it may or may not end well.](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/1495226.html)
> 
> Hmm, I'm interpreting "bad" rather loosely here. Oh, well. It's all Holmes' fault anyway. Unbeta'd flash fic, no doubt chock full of errors; mea culpa.

"I've been a fool, haven't I?"

The words were bitter and the tone harsh. They hung between us, suspended in the air of the Stranger's Room like cheap tobacco smoke that would not dissipate.

When I was informed of Doctor Watson's arrival at the Diogenes Club, I had thought that he wished to thank me for the flowers I had sent, perhaps, or, less likely, to solicit my assistance regarding his medical practice, which had declined during Mrs Watson's illness. It had been foolish of me to conjecture in advance of any data, of course. His words and his demeanor quickly disabused me of those notions.

"I cannot think why you would say such a thing, Doctor," I said. "You have never struck me as a foolish man."

"Oh, but I am," he said. "Your brother is alive, isn't he."

"Alive? Sherlock?" I kept my face well schooled from long practice, showing only the appropriate incredulity at such an outrageous statement. "Doctor Watson, are you quite well? You yourself read his letter, and were witness to his struggles at the Falls. Surely, you more than anyone else—"

"I don't claim to know how Holmes escaped the chasm," he said, "only that he did." He began to pace the room in an agitated fashion. 

"Please calm yourself," I said, but he ignored my exhortation.

"He knew Moriarty thoroughly, he studied the man with single-minded focus."

"As the Professor no doubt studied Sherlock," I observed, but Watson waved that away.

"Even from afar, Holmes's trap managed to snare Moriarty's gang, and nearly the man himself. His was clearly the superior intellect," Watson said in all seriousness, and I was unexpectedly moved by his utter faith in my younger brother.

"Yes, I agree with you. But the evidence—"

"Hang the evidence!" he snapped. He ceased his pacing to stand in front of me, ramrod straight. "Holmes would not, could not, be defeated by the likes of him. Everything I know about Holmes, every case we've ever investigated together, that is the only evidence that matters."

_Your stories_ , I realise. The so-called "adventures" that Doctor Watson had been assiduously publishing in _The Strand_ until his wife fell sick a few months ago had somehow coalesced in his mind to convince him that Sherlock had survived. 

This was not evidence. There was no proof, no data. It was logical fallacy, sheer speculation fueled by Watson's guilt and grief.

Sheer speculation that also happened to be true.

Watson was watching me with shrewd eyes. I met his gaze squarely, blandly. His mouth tightened.

"I do not know how he did it, nor why. I simply know that he chose not to confide in me... again."

"'Again'?"

"Some months before the… there was a case with an odious murderer by the name of Culverton Smith." The memory clearly pained him, but he swallowed and continued, "Holmes used me to lure Smith to his side, but rather than entrust me with his plans, he deceived me in order to achieve his ends."

"I recall the incident, of course. It was too bad of Sherlock to treat you so shabbily, Doctor," I said, and meant it. "There were occasions when his flair for the dramatic would overtake his good sense."

"Is that what he is doing now? Being dramatic?" Watson said, tense with fury and despair. "Why has he not returned? Even if he lacked confidence in my ability to help him, it's been nineteen months."

Dear God, the man is counting the _months_. 

"If this were one of your adventure stories, I wonder how you might resolve the problem," I said, affecting to ponder. "Suppose… suppose a few of Moriarty's confederates had escaped the clutches of Scotland Yard. Suppose those confederates were carrying on their leader's work, and seeking to revenge him, besides? In such a situation, the danger Sherlock spoke of would still be imminent, would it not? Secrecy would be of paramount importance, not only to him, but to all the parties involved."

Watson's eyes went wide.

" _If_ this were one of your stories, that is," I repeated. "Your writing does have a certain flair."

For several moments, he said nothing. I could see thoughts were chasing each other across his mind in quick succession, but his expression was, for once, unreadable to me. 

"I see," he said, finally. "I serve his purpose best by being a willing gull, is that it? He desires my absence rather than my presence. Very well." His voice was cold. "If Holmes wants my ignorance, he shall have it."

_Your grief clouded your reasoning then, and your anger does the same now_ , I thought. With a heavy heart, I realised that there was nothing I could say to rectify the situation. He had been hurt too often and too deeply. Only time, and Sherlock, could heal his wounds.

Watson was almost to the door before he stopped and turned to me again. 

"I know your loyalties are with your brother and not with me," he said. "Nonetheless, I ask that you do not disclose our conversation to him."

I inclined my head. "Naturally. I cannot disclose conversations to a dead man, after all. Farewell, Doctor Watson."

He nodded curtly and left.

_For all your good intentions, you have caused more harm with your guile than you know, brother mine. Hurry home._


End file.
